


I Can Only Think It Must Be Love

by aroacejeanprouvaire



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Agender Enjolras, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Aromantic Characters, Asexual Characters, M/M, Mutual Pining, Trans Courfeyrac, almost everyone is some variation of asexual and aromantic, just assume everyone is trans - it's better that way, trans Combeferre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 09:22:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3204092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aroacejeanprouvaire/pseuds/aroacejeanprouvaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the help of Combeferre and Enjolras, Courfeyrac makes some discoveries about his romantic orientation. He also makes some more specific discoveries about what romantic attraction might feel like for him, which is a little awkward when he's lying in bed with the subject of that attraction. Cue pining and mis-communication and angst which is all resolved in under 24 hours because Courfeyrac and Combeferre are world champions in conflict resolution, especially with Enjolras' assistance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can Only Think It Must Be Love

Courfeyrac sleeps in Combeferre’s bed pretty often. He sleeps in Enjolras’ bed a fair bit of the time too. He likes company, and he likes close contact. So some nights he wanders into the hall of the flat the three of them share and knocks on one of their doors. They’re always happy to have him.

He always welcomes anyone who knocks on his door, too, although that happens less often. Occasionally Combeferre will knock and sheepishly say that he’s having trouble sleeping and could he stay in here tonight? Bossuet has stayed with him upon occasion, but then Bossuet stays with everyone, not having had an actual home for the last six months (although, of course, he stays with Joly more often than not). Enjolras has crawled into Courfeyrac’s bed a total of twice – once when xe’d laid out too many papers on xirs bed and didn’t want to disturb them, and once when xe was shaking so badly with stress that it had taken Courfeyrac a full hour to calm xir down and get xir to sleep.

Marius had needed a place to stay before, but he was uncomfortable enough with hugs, let alone sharing a bed. Courfeyrac would have offered him their couch, but it didn’t seem fair to let Marius live in constant terror of running into Combeferre, so in the end he’d just paid most of Marius’ rent until he found his feet.

Marius had found his feet. He’d done quite well really, right up until he hadn’t. All Courfeyrac knew was that it was something about a woman, and that all of a sudden his dreamer of a friend seemed down all the time. He didn’t push for more details, and when Marius asked if he could stay he simply told him, “Of course. Take my bed.”

“Courfeyrac, I’m the guest, I can sleep on the couch.”

“Nobody can sleep on that couch. You can barely even sit on that thing.”

“Then where are you going to sleep?"

“Oh, don’t worry about me, I only sleep here about fifty percent of the time anyway. I’ll work something out.”

Marius blinks and looks away, probably assuming that Courfeyrac has plans he’d rather not hear about. He’s not exactly wrong.

It would have been easy enough to knock on Enjolras’ or Combeferre’s door, but after a day cooped up listening to the lectures he’d failed to actually attend, Courfeyrac wants to get out and do something.

 _Or someone_ , he thinks, and then laughs to himself, at his own terrible joke.

Because as well as the nights he spends platonically cuddling with his best friends, there’s the nights when he doesn’t come home at all. Nights when he stumbles out of clubs on the arm of someone whose name is new and exciting in his mouth and whose hands are getting fast familiar with his body. Courfeyrac can almost always find people who are happy to have him.

 

He goes to a gay club, because things are usually easier there. Most of the people have at least heard the term ‘trans’ before, so there is less explaining for him to do before the rejections, and a better chance of finding someone who won’t reject him.

He’s been there for over an hour without much luck, but he’s buzzed and he’s dancing, so it beats being at home for now.

Yet another woman dances over and looks at him meaningful. Her frizzy hair flies around her face as she sways and bops her head, and Courfeyrac lets himself hope, just for a second.

“You know I’m a guy, right?” He yells over the music. “Like, it’s cool, I’m bi or whatever, but you realise I’m a guy?”

She looks uncertain and yells back. “You’re bi?”

“Yeah, and I’m a _guy_! A boy… man.”

The woman’s smile falters, and he can see rather than hear her saying ‘oh shit’ before she shouts back. “Sorry, boy man. My bad.” And dances away.

It’s happened too many times tonight. Courfeyrac feels his eyes smarting and runs to the bathroom before things can get any more embarrassing.

In the bathroom he leans on the sink and stares at himself in the mirror. He looks the same as usual, so far as he can tell. But something must be different, for people to be reading him so consistently as a woman, when usually he gets approximately a 50/50 split of people reading him as a woman and reading him as a man, with a few looks of uncomfortable confusion thrown in for good measure.

“Hey, don’t let them get to you, buddy.”

Courfeyrac startles and looks up, meeting the man’s eyes in the mirror before turning around to look at him,, leaning against a closed bathroom stall.

Before Courfeyrac can reply, the guy knocks on the stall. “Hey, Sam, you doing okay in there? You gonna throw up or what?” There’s an answering wretch from within. The man shrugs and turns back to Courfeyrac. “I saw you out there, getting hit on by all the lesbians. That happens to Sam here a bunch too.”

“I just… I wish I knew what made the difference. What am I doing wrong tonight?"

A voice comes weakly out of the stall. “You’re not doing anything wrong. Some days you have a bad run. It’s those fuckers fault, not yours.” There’s a pause in which Courfeyrac wonders if Sam is going to puke again, but then he adds, “You sound familiar, by the way?”

“Um, my name’s Courfeyrac, if that helps?“

“Oh shit, yeah, I think it was about a month ago?”

Oh. Right. Sam is an old hook-up. Courfeyrac runs his hand through his hair and forces a laugh. “Yep, that’d be it. I recognise your voice now. You were holding your alcohol a little better then.”

As if to prove Courfeyrac’s point, Sam vomits again.

Courfeyrac turns back to the mirror, splashes some water on his face, and straightens up. “Well, I guess I’ll be going.”

“Wait.” The guy leaning against the stall, who hadn’t really stopped watching Courfeyrac that whole time, steps forwards. “I think I’ve served my time here. I’ll send another friend in to look after Sam. Wanna dance with me, Courfeyrac? I’m Andre, by the way.”

Courfeyrac hesitates, but Sam mumbles through the door, “It’s cool with me, if anyone was worried.”

Courfeyrac had been worried, but he’s not anymore. He grins and drags Andre out onto the dance floor.

 

They end up at Andre’s place, kissing messily and fumbling with the fastenings on each other’s clothes. And it’s good. It’s what Courfeyrac was looking for. Frantic movement, the rush, the excitement. Once they get going, Andre is gentle and soft and keen to follow Courfeyrac’s lead and it’s all exactly what he needed. Lying back afterwards he feels calm for the first time all day, despite holding back a rush of dysphoria.

Andre’s hand traces the edge of Courfeyrac’s binder, sweat-drenched and sticking to his skin. “I was going to ask but you were, uh, distracting. Are you supposed to leave that on?”

“Supposed to?” He hates people asking, but he never knows how to tell them to back off.

“Yeah, like, is it safe?”

“Eh, maybe not.” Courfeyrac quirks an eyebrow at Andre. “But maybe I have an asphyxiation kink, baby.”

Andre laughs and shakes his head. “Okay, but I know for sure that you’re not supposed to sleep in it.”

Courfeyrac stretches. “Yeah, true.” He wants to say that it’s none of Andre’s business; that if he wants to wear the binder longer than is probably advisable, and in situations that he probably shouldn’t, then that’s his own problem. Instead he asks, “Got a spare shirt for me?”

“Sure, just a sec.” Andre looks through a drawer and then throws Courfeyrac a plain black t-shirt, politely turning away as Courfeyrac struggles out of his binder and pulls the shirt on. “So, you’re staying the night?”

“Mm, well, it’s going to be a lot harder for me to blow you in the morning if I’m not here.”

Another laugh from Andre, as he gets back into the bed. “You know you can stay whether or not you blow me, right?”

Courfeyrac runs a hand through Andre’s hair. “Lucky me.”

Courfeyrac can’t sleep. He’s lying on his back with Andre’s arm wrapped around him, Andre’s face pressed against his shoulder, and there’s no way he can sleep like this. It feels wrong. Andre’s weight against him feels _wrong_ and he’s not sure why he ever expects a different result because he always feels like this, after hook-ups.

There’s two waves of discomfort. The first is the dysphoria that crashes through him as soon as he comes, every goddamn time. But that’s manageable. He’s used to that, and he can more or less tune it out.

The second is _this_ , whatever this is. Cuddling always seems like such a good idea but then there’s a stranger wrapped around him, acting like they mean something to each other and it makes Courfeyrac feel sick to his stomach.

Slowly, he worms his way out of Andre’s embrace and sits on the edge of the bed. He pulls off the black t-shirt, folds it, and lays it on the end of the bed, then finds his own clothes and puts them back on. He thinks about writing a note, but that seems a bit over-attentive for a one night stand. Andre is just going to have to live with not knowing where his morning blow-job disappeared to.

Courfeyrac walks carefully through the dark apartment and lets himself out as quietly as he can. He walks for a few minutes before he realises he has no idea where he is, and stops to call a cab.

 

He gets home just after three. He goes to the bathroom and brushes his teeth, because he _hates_ sleeping with un-brushed teeth and since he’s home he might as well. Then he walks back down the hall and is about to open the door to his room when he wonders why it was closed in the first place, and remembers Marius.

Right. Of course. That was half the reason he’d tried to find somewhere to stay over. Courfeyrac looks up and down the hallway at the three doors. Marius would be too uncomfortable with Courfeyrac being there, so that’s not even an option. He thinks about it for a moment longer before deciding that between Enjolras and Combeferre, Combeferre is a good deal less likely to murder him for disturbing his sleep.

He changes in the bathroom, taking his binder off but putting his shirt back on, and leaving his boxers. He doesn’t want to go into his room and risk waking Marius (he has to wake up Combeferre but he doesn’t want to start a list of people he disturbed at 3 am), so that will have to do.

The door to Combeferre’s room creaks, but he’s a pretty sound sleeper, and doesn’t stir until Courfeyrac is lifting the covers and crawling in beside him.

“Courf?”

Courfeyrac is about to ask how Combeferre knows it’s him in the dark and without his glasses, but then he realises that there probably isn’t anyone else likely to show up uninvited in Combeferre’s bed. “Yeah, sorry. Is it okay if I sleep here?”

“Of course.” Combeferre’s voice is sleep-heavy, like he’s not properly awake. He wraps his arms around Courfeyrac, who sighs, feeling suddenly relieved, and exhausted, and presses his face against Combeferre’s chest. He thinks Combeferre’s gone back to sleep, when he stirs and props himself up on an elbow, looking at digital clock on his bedside table. “Wait, are you okay?”

Courfeyrac snuggles in closer and tries to pull Combeferre back down. “I’m fine.”

“You suddenly needed to be here at three in the morning, but you’re fine?”

“Yes?”

“No.”

Courfeyrac sighs. “Can you just cuddle me for now? I’m kind of confused anyway so I’m not going to be any good at talking about it tonight and I’ll only feel more guilty about waking you if you don’t go back to sleep right this second.”

“We’ll talk in the morning, though?”

“Yes. Although if we don’t that will be the second promise I’ve broken about what I’m doing tomorrow morning.”

“What?”

“Um, don’t worry.” Courfeyrac pulls at Combeferre’s shirt and this time Combeferre complies, lying down again and hugging Courfeyrac tightly to his chest. “Night, Ferre. You’re the best.”

Combeferre presses a kiss to the top of Courfeyrac’s head. “Goodnight.”

Courfeyrac wonders why this is so different. Why it feels so right to be pressed against Combeferre’s chest, with Combeferre’s arms cradling him almost protectively, when it felt so wrong to have Andre wrapped around him.

And not just Andre. He’s fled from the beds of hook ups before, always feeling so uncomfortable the second things got relaxed. Pillow talk makes him nauseous. Lazy morning kisses disgust him, no matter who they’re with.

Combeferre mumbles something in his sleep and tugs Courfeyrac even closer. Courfeyrac smiles, and decides that his thinking can wait until morning, when Combeferre can help him through it.

 

Offensively bright sunlight streams in between the blinds, falling across Courfeyrac’s face. He sighs and shifts his head, trying to escape the coming day. Wriggling around, he ends up facing Combeferre, who is watching him. Combeferre only looks half awake, a sleepy smile on his face as he shuffles closer and presses their foreheads together.

“Morning, Courfeyrac.”

“Morning. What are you looking so pleased about?”

Combeferre shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s nice having you here.”

“Dork.” Courfeyrac is about to amend that to something nicer, when he’s interrupted by a knock at the door.

Combeferre calls, “Come in!“ and pushes himself up to sit against the headboard as the door opens, and Enjolras steps into the room.

“I thought I heard you talking, last night and this morning. Courfeyrac, are you okay?”

Courfeyrac groans and buries his face in the pillow. “Why does everyone have to assume there’s something wrong with me? Can’t I want to cuddle up to my very attractive and comfortable friend without having to justify myself?”

Combeferre wrinkles his nose at the compliments and tries to supress a smile. Enjolras just gives Courfeyrac an unimpressed look.

“I heard you come in at three in the morning, and then you went to Combeferre’s bed instead of your own, even though you hate waking anyone. Generally, that means there’s something wrong.”

“I could have plenty of reasons for avoiding my bed. For example, the fact that Pontmercy is sleeping in it.”

They both stare at him. After a second Combeferre begins, “You… Did you – “

Courfeyrac hurriedly cuts him off. “No! God, no. He just needed somewhere to stay. I was planning on being out anyway so I didn’t think it would be an issue. I couldn’t make the poor kid sleep on the couch because, I mean, you know what our couch is like, and I couldn’t sleep in there with him because he would have felt so awkward about it that he probably would have spontaneously combusted.”

Combeferre shakes his head, clearly amused. “So, you decided to give up your own bed entirely?”

“Not entirely. Just, until he figures things out.”

Enjolras sits xirself on the edge of the bed. “That’s very sweet but you’re still not telling us what’s wrong, and I can tell that there’s more to this than you incidentally giving away your bedroom. Why don’t we go back to you planning to be out all night, because I have a feeling that has something to do with it.”

Courfeyrac hides his face in the pillow again, and Combeferre gently strokes a hand through his hair, shooting a ‘back off’ look at Enjolras. “You don’t have to talk about it, you know. If you’re not ready to or you don’t want to, we’ll understand.” Combeferre sounds concerned. He never gets quite so directly to the point as Enjolras does, but Courfeyrac is honestly grateful for both of their approaches.

He slowly pulls his head back and looks up at them. Concerned, fond, patient. He really does have the best friends. “It’s okay, I want to talk about it.”

He hesitantly explains what he’d been thinking about before he went to sleep: how he kept being disgusted by strangers being affectionate with him, but how he thinks it might be different with people he knows.

Enjolras looks thoughtful. “You know, that sounds kind of like how I get sometimes. You know, how I withdraw from affection because it starts to feel like maybe people want or expect something else from me.”

Combeferre nods. “It could be some kind of repulsion?”

“But I’m not sex-repulsed. I know I’m not. I’m not always interested in sex but when I am then I really am.”

“No, but that’s not the only type of repulsion, right, Enjolras?”

Enjolras nods. “Yeah, I get romance-repulsed too. Maybe even more than I get sex-repulsed. That’s what I was talking about, really.”

Courfeyrac sits up and snuggles into Combeferre’s side. He feels safer there. “But, I’m not aromantic? Am I?”

Combeferre wraps an arm around his shoulders and looks down at him, concern clouding his face. “Hey, we’re just throwing ideas out. None of these are definites, and you’re really the only one who can know any of this for sure. You don’t even need to put any label on any of this if you don’t want to.”

Courfeyrac smiles and kisses Combeferre’s cheek, trying to reassure him. “I know, Ferre. But you know me: I do like labels. They make me feel safe. Besides, I don’t know, I could be aromantic. I’ve never really thought about it before, but I don’t know when I’ve even been romantically interested in anyone.” He closes his eyes, thinking. “But, I do want romantic relationships, I think? I just… I can’t picture trying to make that happen with some stranger. That idea is so awful to me. I think if I ever were to seriously date someone it would be one of our friends.”

Enjolras, apparently feeling left out, lies down with xirs head in Courfeyrac’s lap, and looks up at Combeferre. “You know, Combeferre, that sounds kind of like – ”

“Like me with sex, yeah. Just the idea of hooking up with someone I don’t know and get along with is so strange.”

“But I’m not demi.” Courfeyrac protests.

“You’re not demisexual, no.” Combeferre nods. “But you know being demiromatic is a thing, too?”

“So, like, not being romantically interested in anyone until I already have some kind of friendship or something with them?”

“That’s the gist, yep.”

Courfeyrac groans, but then laughs and shushes Combeferre and Enjolras when they look all concerned and try to ask what’s wrong. “No, no, it’s fine. It’s just, that sounds really, well, accurate, and in that case I probably should have been avoiding cuddling with my hook-ups all this time. Like, that essentially seems to be the problem – I want to sleep with people but I don’t want to get cute with them. I could have saved myself all this trouble if I just bailed earlier after sex.”

Combeferre pulls him closer. “Well, now you know, and hopefully that will help. Assuming you do stick with this label, and you don’t have to. It’s okay to just try it out and see – ”

“Combeferre! I know, okay? It’s okay, you can stop stressing.”

Enjolras laughs and Combeferre pouts. “I’m allowed to be concerned about my friends.”

Courfeyrac presses kisses to Combeferre’s shoulder. “You are, and your friends are allowed to laugh at you for it, every once in a while.”

 

The rest of the day goes pretty much as usual; Courfeyrac has classes in the morning, then spends the afternoon catching up on readings with Enjolras. Enjolras, with characteristic perseverance, sits on the horribly uncomfortable couch, while Courfeyrac sits on the floor and leans against xirs legs.

Marius spends the day out somewhere, probably just walking around town. Courfeyrac gave him twenty dollars and a packed lunch in the morning and didn’t ask any questions, since Marius didn’t look like he wanted to share.

Combeferre has teaching prac all day. He walks in at five, looking tired but still smiling warmly when he sees Courfeyrac and Enjolras leaning on each other (Enjolras having finally joined Courfeyrac on the floor) and playfully arguing over something in Enjolras’ readings.

It’s not actually all that often that all three of them end up being home at dinner time. A lot of evenings Courfeyrac is out with friends, or just out. Enjolras is pretty much constantly busy, and Combeferre often goes to the library, gets caught up in whatever he’s reading, and forgets to go home.

They decide to take advantage of the rare occasion and cook dinner together. Enjolras can’t cook to save xirs life, but xe insists that xe just needs more practice. Courfeyrac is all enthusiasm and is constantly having ideas which turn out either wonderfully or terribly. Combeferre oversees the other two, since he’s the only one actually capable of following a recipe from start to finish.

They make lasagne, chatting about their days as they get ingredients prepared. When Enjolras is making a white sauce (with more intensity than either of the others has ever seen applied to the task before) Courfeyrac says quietly, “So, demiromantic?”

Enjolras glances at him to show that xe’s listening, then goes back to furiously stirring.

Combeferre looks up from where he’s preparing a salad. “Still liking the label?”

“Yeah, it’s good. But like, what’s it mean for me? What do I need to change?”

“That’s really up to you.”

“Yeah, I know. It seemed pretty simple this morning, but now it feels more complicated. I can’t really just run away from everyone I sleep with.”

Combeferre laughs, then quickly stops himself and says, “Sorry, just had a mental image of you fleeing from a mob of past hook-ups.”

Courfeyrac pokes his tongue out at him.

Enjolras puts down xirs wooden spoon. “I don’t think you have to run away. You just need to identify specifically what it is that you’re uncomfortable with and avoid those things.” Combeferre suddenly realises that the white sauce has been neglected and dives in to stir it, but Enjolras continues, unconcerned. “Like, for example, when I think that people might want or expect some kind of romantic relationship from me, then I start wanting to get away from them.”

“It’s… yeah, I think it’s similar for me. It just feels really wrong for someone I barely know to be acting like there’s anything between us.”

Combeferre, now putting the first layer of sauce into the dish, says, “Maybe you’d be more comfortable with people you know a bit better. So you could make some kind of arrangement, and be really clear on each other’s boundaries.”

Courfeyrac winks at him. “Volunteering?” He’s not sure what response he expects, but Combeferre spluttering and nearly spilling white sauce everywhere was not it, and he doesn’t really know what to do with that, so he carries on like it didn’t happen. “That might be a good idea. And, actually, I may have that kind of arrangement going with one or two people already, so maybe I’ll stick with that and skip the anonymous hook-ups for a little while.”

He can tell Enjolras and Combeferre are both curious about who he might have arrangements with, but neither of them ask. Enjolras just says, “That sounds sensible. At least until you figure out what exactly you want and what you’re comfortable with.”

After that they drop the topic. Combeferre gets the lasagne in the oven, and they all go to watch some TV while it cooks.

Enjolras and Combeferre sit side by side on the couch.

“I can’t believe you’re both still persisting in sitting on that thing.” Courfeyrac tells them, and then lies across their laps instead, ending up with his head in Combeferre’s lap, his middle across Enjolras, and his legs dangling over the arm-rest.

Enjolras puts on the news, but they don’t even get through one news item before Courfeyrac tugs on the sleeves of the other two and says softly, “What if I never find anyone to be with, you know, romantically?”

Enjolras switches the TV off again. “Why is that of more concern today than it was yesterday?”

“Because if I’m only going to be romantically interested in people I know pretty well then that is severely cutting down on the number of potential people.”

“You do have more friends than pretty much anyone else I know.” Combeferre points out.

“Mm, but still…”

Enjolras adds, “You said this morning that if you were going to date someone it would probably be one of our friends. Did you have someone in mind? Because if you’re worrying over a specific person –”

“Not a specific person.” Courfeyrac puts his hands up in front of him, as though he’s defending himself. “A general, hypothetical person.”

Combeferre runs his hands through Courfeyrac’s hair, but doesn’t meet his eyes. “I’m sure things will work out, Courf. Up until now you were in no rush to be in a romantic relationship, so I think it’s best to just not worry about it and wait until you’re actually interested in someone.”

“I think it would be easier to just be straight up aromantic, like you two.”

“I’m grey-aromantic.” Combeferre reminds him, a little sharply. “Romantic attraction is rare for me, but it does happen. And no, it’s not easy being aromantic in a society that treats romantic relationships like the most important thing that could possibly happen to you.”

Enjolras is nodding, and Courfeyrac cringes at himself. “I’m sorry. You’re right, and I shouldn’t have said that.”

Combeferre softens, stroking his hair again. “It’s okay, you’re frustrated, and you weren’t thinking about it.”

Enjolras rolls xirs eyes. “I’ve never met two people as incapable at sustaining conflict as you two are. I blink and you’ve forgiven each other, every time.” Xe pushes Courfeyrac off xir and stands up. “I’m going to check on dinner.”

 

After dinner Enjolras goes to talk to Bahorel. There’s a protest coming up, the group’s first one, and Bahorel’s the only one of them with much practical experience of what can happen when protests go wrong, so Enjolras is eager to hear their insights.

Courfeyrac puts a movie on, half-watching it while tapping away on his phone. He sits on the floor, leaning on Combeferre’s legs. Combeferre sits, leaning against the armrest of the couch, working on a lesson plans for the rest of his teaching prac.

An hour into the movie, Courfeyrac drifts off with his head on Combeferre’s knee.

He’s not sure how long he’s been asleep when he wakes up to Combeferre stroking a hand through his hair and whispering, “Courf?”

When Courfeyrac doesn’t move Combeferre gently moves his head off his knee, then slides off the couch to kneel beside him. “Courfeyrac. Come on, if you don’t move now you’re going to end up with the biggest crick in your neck.” He rubs Courfeyrac’s arm until finally he gives up and opens his eyes.

“What the hell, Ferre?” Courfeyrac asks mildly.

“You fell asleep.”

“Yeah, I figured. Why’d you wake me up?”

“You didn’t look terribly comfortable. I think it’s time we get you to bed.”

“I should probably leave my bed vacant. Marius should show up back here at some point.”

“I know. You can sleep in my bed again.

Courfeyrac smiles and squeezes Combeferre’s arm. “Thank you, Ferre, really.”

Combeferre waves him away. “It’s really nothing. Now come on.” He helps Courfeyrac to his feet and pushes him towards the bathroom.

Courfeyrac shoves him off, laughing, and goes to get ready for bed.

When he’s done he goes to Combeferre’s room, but finds it empty. He wanders back out to the lounge room and finds Combeferre back on the couch with his laptop.

“Are… are you coming to bed?”

Combeferre looks up, amused. “It’s only ten.”

“Then why am I being sent to bed?”

“Because you’re exhausted, and you didn’t get enough sleep last night.”

Courfeyrac crosses his arms over his chest. “You have to come with me. What’s the point of sleeping in your bed if there’s no you in it?”

Combeferre’s expression softens. “If you don’t feel like sleeping alone, it’s okay. I’ll be in soon, I just have to finish this.”

“Do you have to be here to finish it?” Courfeyrac suddenly worries that he’s being too clingy, but Combeferre just laughs.

“I guess not.” Combeferre stands up, carefully carrying his laptop, and heads for his room. Once he’s there he puts the laptop on the bed, tugs off his shirt, and pulls the shirt he sleeps in out from under his pillow. When he turns around Courfeyrac is watching him.

Courfeyrac smiles apologetically. “Sorry, I’m, um…” He lifts a hand, touching one of the twin scars on Combeferre’s chest, just for a moment, before dropping it and looking away. 

“Just, I don’t know, interested?” He looks at his feet. “I need to get to where you are.”

“You will.” Combeferre says, sounding more confident of it than Courfeyrac can ever manage to feel. “But medical transition isn’t everything, you know.”

“I know. I know I don’t need it to make my identity valid, or anything. I just… need it. I just do.”

Combeferre nods. “You’ll get there. I wish it was easier. And I wish I knew a good psych you could go to around here, to get your damn approval letter for getting on T. My one was good, but that was back home.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to fix all my problems. I’ll be brave enough to start seeing psychologists eventually, I guess.”

“You take your time, okay? There’s no pressure.”

Courfeyrac nods again, his throat dry. He feels like he can never get to where Combeferre is. Combeferre had T shots when he was still in his teens. Combeferre started transitioning long before Courfeyrac even had the first inklings that maybe he wasn’t a girl. He knows it’s in no way a contest, but still, it feels like there’s too much ground to make up, and he’s stuck back at the starting line with his first binder and leg hair that’s still growing in after years of shaving it off.

Courfeyrac knows that he’s conceptualising it all wrong. He knows that if he voiced any of it to Combeferre then his friend would patiently explain why identity has nothing to do with presentation, or with how other people read you. As much as he loves Combeferre, the last thing he needs right now is to be told a bunch of stuff that he knows is true but that never makes him feel any better, so he stays quiet.

Combeferre gives him a concerned frown, but instead of saying anything he pats Courfeyrac on the shoulder before climbing into bed, where he sits against the headboard with his laptop.

Courfeyrac crawls in beside him and leans against his thigh. He falls asleep there, and when he wakes up again the lights are out, the laptop is on the floor, and Combeferre is asleep beside him. He throws an arm over Combeferre’s waist, and goes back to sleep.

 

They wake up wrapped around each other. It’s Saturday morning, and they’ve got nowhere to be, so they both just lie there and let themselves wake up slowly. They mumble ‘good mornings’, and the beginnings of conversation, although it takes Combeferre a few minutes to actually be able to say anything comprehensible.

It doesn’t take Courfeyrac long to start talking about romantic orientations again, because when something’s on his mind it’s pretty much constantly on his mind. Besides, all wrapped up in Combeferre, talking feels safe.

“It’s still kind of scaring me.” Courfeyrac whispers the words into Combeferre’s chest.

“What is?”

“Being demiromantic. I just… what if it means I never find anyone?”

“Do you need a romantic partner?” Combeferre pulls Courfeyrac in to him as he speaks, as though he can physically shield him from his fears.

“I guess not. But, I don’t know, I think I want one?” Courfeyrac sighs. The bed, and Combeferre, are so nice and warm, and he doesn’t want to ruin the lovely morning, but he can’t seem to stop talking. “What if I’m not demiromantic? What if I’m just aromantic? I mean, I’m not even sure what romantic attraction would be like, for me.”

“What has it been like before? You’ve had crushes and such before, haven’t you?”

“Well, I thought so, but now I’m not sure about anything. I guess it’s just like, caring about someone a lot, and wanting to be around them all the time, and feeling really comfortable with them.” He tightens his arms around Combeferre, who does the same in return. “But that can’t be all, because that’s how I feel about all my friends, pretty much. Most of all that really just sounds like a description of how I feel about you…”

He stops short, and what he’s just said hits him. Combeferre goes still and Courfeyrac knows he’s made him uncomfortable and he shouldn’t have said it. And he’s worried about Combeferre and how he’s feeling but most of all he’s marvelling at the words that just came out of his own mouth, because that really is how he feels, and he feels it so much more intensely for Combeferre than for any of his other friends, and _holy shit_ , he’s in love with Combeferre.

The same Combeferre who’s lying, silent and uncomfortable, in his arms. The Combeferre who, of course, tries to diffuse the situation. “Well, uh, maybe there isn’t a huge distinction between friend feelings and romantic feelings, for you. I think, um, I guess you’ll know if you fall in love with someone.” ( _I do know_ , Courfeyrac thinks, _it took me so long but I do know_ ) “Anyway, I should probably go shower and, ah, get some uni work done, or something.”

A moment later Combeferre is gone, and Courfeyrac is alone in the bed, which suddenly feels empty and cold. Courfeyrac feels almost as though he could cry, which, he thinks, is ridiculous. He takes a few minutes to process his thoughts as best he can, then sighs and gets up as well.

 

Courfeyrac takes the shower once Combeferre is done. When Courfeyrac, clean and dressed, makes his way to the kitchen he finds Enjolras and Marius both there. Marius is drinking tea and staring at his feet. Enjolras is reading something on xirs phone while xe waits for xirs toast, glancing at Marius every once in a while.

“Morning.” Courfeyrac says to them both. “You can talk to each other, you know. Enjolras, Marius is a sweetheart, and Marius, Enjolras was kind of nice to you when Combeferre tore your argument to shreds, so there’s really nothing for you to worry about.”

Marius looks up, confused, as though he hadn’t actually realised that either of them were in the room with him until Courfeyrac spoke to him. Enjolras just rolls xirs eyes.

Courfeyrac shrugs. “Where’s Combeferre, by the way?”

“He rushed out to the library.” Enjolras tells him. Courfeyrac isn’t sure, but it feels like Enjolras is watching him a little too closely as xe says it.

Courfeyrac frowns. “Why would he need to rush to the library on a Saturday morning? I know he hasn’t got any assignments due for at least a week.”

“That’s what I was wondering. If it’s not for last minute deadlines, then usually the other reason he’d go to the library in a rush is –“

“Because he’s upset.” Courfeyrac finishes. He runs his hands over his face. “I think it’s my fault but I don’t know exactly what I did, and I have no idea how to fix it.”

Enjolras frowns as well. “That’s no good. Now you’re both going to be all upset. I can try to give advice, if you want to talk about it?”

“Um, I’d rather not tell you, right now. Sorry.”

“In that case, I think you should talk to Combeferre about it. You said you don’t know exactly what you did wrong; I’m guessing he’s got a better idea of it.”

Courfeyrac grimaces. “You’re probably right. I’m just… I’m going to have coffee first, at least.”

 

Courfeyrac has a coffee, and a bowl of cereal. By the time Courfeyrac’s done with breakfast Marius and Enjolras have gone about their days, leaving him alone to worry. He decides to start with trying to work out what exactly is wrong. He’s knows that whatever it is has something to do with what he’d said that morning, but he needs specifics before he can fix it.

He types out and deletes several messages, before sending:

_hey, enjolras said you went to the library. is everything okay?_

He knows for sure that everything is not okay, but he figures he should at least give Combeferre a chance to say as much first.

A few minutes later the reply pops up:

_I’m fine. Just getting some work done._

Courfeyrac frowns. It’s not like Combeferre to lie about being upset, even if he doesn’t want to talk about why he’s upset. Courfeyrac sends:

_ok. mind if I join you? i’ve got a presentation to prepare for class next week_

He figures that maybe it will be easier to talk face to face, but after a full ten minutes the reply comes:

_I wouldn’t mind, but I’m actually just finishing up now and heading to Joly’s._

Courfeyrac sits down heavily. So Combeferre is avoiding him. That’s… unprecedented, actually. Combeferre usually goes for sitting down and talking about things, so it’s unnerving to say the least.

Courfeyrac tries to think back and figure out why Combeferre would react so badly. Sure, Courfeyrac had basically admitted to being in love with him, but he wouldn’t have expected his friend to be upset by that. Not that he expected him to be thrilled, either. Surprised, definitely, and maybe somewhat taken aback, but avoiding him seems pretty excessive. Combeferre takes everything in his stride. When the words had slipped out of Courfeyrac’s mouth he’d expected exactly what had happened: Combeferre politely excusing himself, but he’d also expected it to end there, and probably just never be spoken about again.

The more he thinks about it, the more Courfeyrac begins to feel just a bit peeved. Combeferre is being more than inconsiderate – it strikes Courfeyrac as actually somewhat mean to avoid him after what happened. But “mean” and “Combeferre” are not two things that Courfeyrac can reconcile in his head.

He gives up, for the time being. It’s not like he can actually work anything out until he can talk to Combeferre, and he can’t force Combeferre to talk to him, so he’s just going to have to wait.

 

Courfeyrac goes to his room, since Marius has vacated it for the day. He tries to do uni readings, but he can’t concentrate so he picks up a half-finished novel instead. After trying for three quarters of an hour he decides that’s a lost cause too and just listens to music.

Feuilly texts him at about one, asking if he wants to hang out. Deciding to make it easier for Combeferre to avoid him, Courfeyrac ends up playing video games with Feuilly for most of the day. He stays at Feuilly’s place for most of the evening too, talking and drinking, with Feuilly and with Bahorel when he gets home. He even manages to forget about Combeferre for most of the day, until finally he goes home at eleven, and knocks quietly on Enjolras’ door instead of Combeferre’s.

There’s a light showing under Enjolras’ door, so at least Courfeyrac doesn’t have to worry about waking xir.

Enjolras calls out, “Come in!” and Courfeyrac sheepishly obeys.

“Hey, um, would I be able to sleep in here tonight?”

“I take it you didn’t make amends with Combeferre, then?” Enjolras looks surprised, which is understandable; Courfeyrac can’t remember a single other instance where he and Combeferre had any kind of altercation that lasted more than a few minutes.

“No. He’s avoiding me. He hasn’t talked to you?”

It’s a good point. When Combeferre is upset, he talks to Enjolras. Enjolras huffs. “Apparently he’s avoiding everyone. He only came home a couple of hours ago, and he shut himself in his room before I could say anything.”

Courfeyrac groans and flops down on the bed. “He must be really mad, Enjolras. Or really upset. He’s never been like this with me. I can’t believe I messed up so bad.”

“Are you going to tell me exactly how you messed up yet?” Enjolras tries to hold back xirs annoyance, but mostly fails. Courfeyrac understands: Enjolras wants to fix xirs friends’ problems. It’s hard for xir to do that if xe doesn’t know what the problems are. Which is much how Courfeyrac feels about the situation too, really.

“I would, but like I said, I’m not really sure.”

“Well, maybe you could talk me through what happened? We can figure out what went wrong together. Or we can try, at least.”

Courfeyrac had wanted to talk to Combeferre about it before he said anything to anyone else, but that is looking like less and less of an option. “Okay, I guess.” He sighs, running his hands through his hair. “Well, firstly, I’m ridiculous, and I realised this morning that I’m… uh, kind of… kind of in love with Combeferre.”

He glances at Enjolras, who just raises an eyebrow at him. “You only realised that this morning?”

Courfeyrac throws a pillow at him. “Shut up, I’m bad at feelings.”

“Clearly. Okay, but go on. How did this realisation end up with Combeferre being upset?”

“Well, I sort of told him. I mean, I figured it out while thinking out loud so I pretty much stated exactly how I feel about him. Then he quickly excused himself, which I figured was just him being nice and not wanting to have to acknowledge what I said and let me down gently, but now he’s avoiding me, which doesn’t seem so nice.”

Enjolras’ face creases in a deep frown. “You told Combeferre that you’re in love with him and he just _left_?”

“That’s not the surprising part, really – “

“No, that is the surprising part. That is the very surprising part.”

“Do you know something I don’t?”

Enjolras’ head snaps up and xe says, “No!” far too quickly.

Courfeyrac is too preoccupied to notice quite how suspicious that is, and he only rolls his eyes in response. “You’re terrible with secrets.”

“I know.” Enjolras concedes. “And yet people keep on telling them to me. Look, you just… you have to talk to Combeferre, okay?”

“But he doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Can’t you just go knock on his door? Physically, you’ve got him cornered in there right now.”

“Enjolras, I can’t hold him down and force him to have a conversation with me. He’s the one avoiding me, so I’m going to have to wait until he’s ready to talk.”

Enjolras looks less than satisfied with this answer, but xe doesn’t dispute it any further, instead picking up xirs phone and looking at it intently.

Courfeyrac takes out his own phone and starts scrolling through Facebook, looking at the pictures Feuilly has just tagged him in, when there’s another knock on the door, after which it opens and Combeferre warily sticks his head in.

He holds up his phone and looks at Courfeyrac. “Apparently I’m being ridiculous and I need to talk to you right this second.”

Courfeyrac stares at him, and then at Enjolras. “I should not have trusted your silence. It’s like with cats or small children; silence means you’re up to something.”

Enjolras shrugs, unperturbed. “You said you had to wait for Combeferre to come to you, so I brought him to you. I don’t see why I should put up with both of you moping around the house when you could just resolve this right now. Speaking of which: go, resolve.” Xe makes shooing motions at them.

Courfeyrac sits up uneasily. “Look, Combeferre, I’m not entirely sure what’s going on, but you don’t have to talk to me just because Enjolras ordered you too.”

“I know.” Combeferre smiles weakly. “But xe’s right, isn’t xe? I am being ridiculous.”

Enjolras ‘shoos’ them again and this time they comply, heading out to the lounge room. Courfeyrac actually sits on the couch for once, and Combeferre sits on the opposite end.

“I’m sorry!” Courfeyrac blurts out, almost immediately. “I made you uncomfortable, and I’m sorry, and it won’t happen again. I promise, I’ll never say anything about it again.”

Combeferre groans and puts his head in his hands. “Courfeyrac, you do not need to apologise to me. I’m sorry. I’m the one acting like a child. I shouldn’t have avoided you, I was just, well, upset, which is embarrassing enough without me acting completely pathetic.”

Courfeyrac has no idea what to say to that, because he’s _confused_ , and hurt, and so, so scared of accidentally making things even worse. “I, um, I don’t really…” He trails off, then takes a deep breath and continues. “I don’t really understand why you were so upset? It’s not so bad, is it?”

Combeferre looks at him, a terrible softness around his eyes, and Courfeyrac wonders for a second if Combeferre is going to cry, but when he speaks his voice is more or less steady. “Look, I haven’t been overly subtle, so I figure you must have known how I’ve felt for a while. So you know that I’m fine with it, with you not… feeling the same. That’s okay, of course it’s okay, but having you so blatantly state that you couldn’t ever be romantically interested in me was just… I don’t know, it was a little more than I could handle this morning.”

Courfeyrac stares at Combeferre, trying to make some kind of sense out of what he’s saying. “That’s… that’s not what I said! Combeferre, that is not what I was saying!”

“You don’t have to pretend, okay.” Combeferre looks even more hurt and Courfeyrac wants to cry with frustration. “You described a feeling, then said that couldn’t possibly be what romantic attraction was like for you, because it’s how you feel about me.”

“Combeferre!” Courfeyrac needs to be closer to Combeferre, and he somehow ends up kneeling on the floor and seizing Combeferre’s hands in his. “Combeferre, I wasn’t saying that, or, I didn’t mean to. That was me realising that I’m in love with you.”

Combeferre blinks repeatedly, like he can’t process what’s been said.

“I realise now that that was probably really unclear, but as soon as the words came out of my mouth I realised what they meant, and I thought you’d understood too. I didn’t understand why you were so upset, because even if you didn’t feel the same way it seemed so unlike you to be upset by a friend having feelings for you. But… you were upset because you thought I’d said the exact opposite?”

Combeferre nods, still silent.

“Um…” Courfeyrac tightens his grip on Combeferre’s hands. “Do you want to maybe go back to what you were saying about how you feel about me? Because however unsubtle you think you were being, I promise you I am more clueless than you are giving me credit for.”

Something like a giggle escapes Combeferre’s lips, and then he’s grinning down at Courfeyrac, whose face lights up in response. “Courfeyrac…” Combeferre doesn’t quite seem to be able to manage any more words, but he tugs Courfeyrac up into a hug, holding him as tightly as he can.

Courfeyrac is more than happy to return the hug, pulling back for just a second to ask, “How do you feel about kissing?”

“Um, it’s… sometimes good, and sometimes I’m not that into it, and it depends on the person –“

“Combeferre,” Courfeyrac laughs fondly. “I meant do you want to kiss me, right now.”

Combeferre blushes, a deep red glow on his dark skin. He gives a barely-perceptible nod.

“Is that a yes?”

Combeferre nods more confidently this time, and Courfeyrac grins before leaning in to press their lips together. Combeferre kisses him back for a second before pulling away. 

“Actually, I… that was nice but –“

“Hey, it’s cool.” Courfeyrac takes Combeferre’s hand again and leans his head on his chest. “Are you getting overwhelmed?”

“I… yeah. A bit.”

“Is cuddling okay?”

“Cuddling is really good.”

“Cool. You tell me if anything’s not good, okay? And I’m going to keep checking as well.”

Combeferre presses his face into Courfeyrac’s hair and whispers, “Thank you.”

They stay on the couch for quite a while, just holding each other tightly, Courfeyrac smiling into Combeferre’s shoulder and Combeferre smiling into Courfeyrac’s hair. Finally, Courfeyrac says, “Okay, this is really nice, but I cannot sit on this couch any longer.”

Combeferre laughs. He kisses Courfeyrac’s hair before standing up, pulling Courfeyrac with him and asking shyly, “Do you want to sleep in my bed tonight?”

Courfeyrac grins. “That sounds really, really great.”

 

**Bonus Triumvirate Friendship Feelings**

They wake up tangled together again. Courfeyrac smiles sleepily and nuzzles into Combeferre’s shoulder. It’s only when Combeferre props himself up on and elbow and hazily says, “Come in?” that Courfeyrac realises that he was woken by a knock at the door.

Enjolras bursts in. “Look, I figured you sorted everything out, or Courfeyrac would have come back to my room, but a word to let me know would have been nice, and I’ve been awake for two hours now and I couldn’t stand it any longer.

Combeferre looks completely lost, but that’s not unusual when he’s just woken up.

Courfeyrac scrambles to sit up. “Shit, Enjolras, I’m sorry. I didn’t think. But, yeah, we’re all good.”

Enjolras only smiles fondly. “It’s okay. Can I maybe get some specifics of that ‘all good’, though? What exactly is the deal with you two now?”

Courfeyrac laughs. “Nosy. I don’t think we’re sure yet, though. We didn’t quite get to specifics last night.”

In an apparent attempt to answer Enjolras’ question Combeferre curls up against Courfeyrac, and mumbles something that sounds like, “I like him.”

Enjolras looks both pleased and exasperated at the same time. “Well, I should probably leave you to it then. Let you sort things out. Let Combeferre wake up…”

“Enjolras, you can stay in here with us for a bit, if you want. I certainly wouldn’t object.” Enjolras hovers on the spot, hesitant to leave and hesitant to stay, but Courfeyrac is determined. “Before Combeferre and I were… whatever we are now, would you have hesitated to squeeze into this bed and snuggle with us, for a few minutes at least? I like that. I don’t want that to change.”

Combeferre, slightly more awake, nods his agreement and lifts the edge of the covers invitingly. Enjolras smiles and squishes xirself in. Combeferre throws an arm around xir to stop xir from falling off the edge of the crowded bed, and Courfeyrac finds one of Enjolras’ hands and clasps it in his own.

After a few minutes of contented silence Enjolras says, “You two do need to figure out the specifics though, you know that don’t you?”

They both laugh and cuddle xir tighter, but they make sounds of agreement as well.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from One Day Like This by Elbow


End file.
